Have you ever wondered why nobody warns you about the grief that comes with graduation?

We throw the parties, buy the dorm bedding, snap the smiling photos at move-in day — but what happens after the car ride home, when the silence in your house suddenly feels deafening?

This is the grief behind graduation. The grief of an empty nest. The grief of an identity shift that nobody talks about.

For eighteen years, your days have revolved around being mom — the chauffeur, the cook, the homework checker, the late-night confidante. You’ve poured your energy, your sanity, and your soul into raising a human being. And then, in one blink, everything changes. Your child moves out, and you’re left navigating emotions that swing wildly between pride and heartbreak.

One minute you’re beaming with pride as your child steps into their future. The next, you’re crying in the kitchen because the house is too quiet and even the slammed doors or dirty dishes you once complained about suddenly feel precious. This is the emotional rollercoaster of empty nest grief — and it’s real.

Pride and grief coexist in the same breath. And while the world around you celebrates your child’s next chapter, you’re left holding an ache no one prepared you for. It feels like a breakup. It feels like losing a piece of yourself. It feels like your purpose is being rewritten in real time.

Empty nest grief is the proof that you loved with your whole damn heart.

Here’s the truth no one wants to admit: nothing goes as planned. You can micromanage applications, dorm lists, and even high school GPAs, but the second your child steps into adulthood, you lose control. And that loss of control can make even the strongest mamas spiral.

We tell ourselves that if our kids succeed, we’ll be okay. If they’re safe, we’re safe. If they’re happy, we’re happy. But tying your worth as a mother to their choices is a trap. Your child’s journey is theirs to live. Your work is to loosen the grip, trust the process, and remember — nothing is permanent. They will stumble, they will shift, they will grow. So will you.

Another hidden layer of graduation grief is how it mirrors our own unhealed wounds. When your child faces rejection, it can trigger every time you’ve been rejected. When they struggle academically, it reopens your own old failures. This is why graduation can feel like more than just a milestone — it becomes an invitation to heal.

Old grief. Old trauma. Old perfectionism. It all bubbles up. And if you’re not intentional, you’ll project it onto your child instead of processing it for yourself. Therapy, sisterhood, and community are not luxuries during this season — they are lifelines.

Perhaps the hardest question of all comes after the boxes are unpacked and the silence settles in: Who am I now?

Motherhood has been your most sacred role, and suddenly it looks and feels different. This identity shift can feel disorienting, but it’s also an opening. What if this isn’t the end of your story but the beginning of a new one? What if the energy you once poured into keeping your kids alive and safe is now available for your own dreams, your own body, your own extraordinary life?

Mama, the grief behind graduation is not a sign of weakness. It’s a testament to how fiercely you’ve loved. Let yourself feel it. Let yourself grieve. And then ask yourself the bigger question: What would it look like to take this ache and turn it into power?

If you’re ready to explore that, I’ve extended the doors to LEGEND until September 3rd. This is the space where women like you reclaim their energy, rewrite their identity, and rise into a life that feels extraordinary, unperfected. Because you raised them to leave — now it’s your turn to learn how to stay.

Take care of yourself and there for each other!

XO, Brooke Jean